


Piety

by KiranInBlue



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Father/Son, Fix-It, Gen, Kidnapping, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiranInBlue/pseuds/KiranInBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Picard's nightmare of Data's death has profound implications on his understanding of Data's place in his life. When Data then gets kidnapped, Picard does everything he can to bring him back safely. (Picard and Data as father/son)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Picard woke with a start. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving as if he’d just been sprinting, and his entire body prickled with the heat of suppressed energy. He heaved deep gulps of air, struggling to calm his racing heart, even as he felt sharp pains of loss and grief shooting through his belly.

“ _Data_ ,” he managed to gasp. “Data…” And for a wild moment, he thought he was about to burst into noisy, body-shaking sobs.

But then, as his breathing began to slow, Picard grew aware of his surroundings: he was in his quarters of the _Enterprise-E_ , his silvery blanket kicked half-away, and the soft hum of the engines continued to vibrate through the floors and walls. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the fiery blast of the _Scimitar_ on the _Enterprise_ ’s view screen, as vividly as if it were happening right before him. But . . . he was not on the spacedock, toasting the memory of one of his closest friends and comrades. He was in his quarters, sweating, disorientated, but clearly travelling at warp speed on an undamaged ship.

“Computer,” he said, with a shaky breath. The computer beeped in response. For a moment, Picard hesitated, uncertain; could he dare hope – could he survive the loss a second time? But he steadied himself. He was the captain, and had an obligation to his crew to face the reality. “Computer,” he said again. “Where is Commander Data?”

“ _Commander Data is on the bridge._ ”

Picard let out a long breath, feeling the dread begin to ebb from his churning stomach. His muscles were still tight with anxiety, and his heart was still racing, but _Data was alive_. He’d had a nightmare – only a nightmare.

He closed his eyes again, trying to settle his nerves. They did not do so readily.

After several unsuccessful moments, Picard reopened his eyes and picked up his comm badge. The chronometer told him that it was 0247 – gamma shift.

“Picard to Data.”

“ _Data here_ ,” came the response. _“What is it, Captain_?”

Picard felt the first faint echoes of relief and calmness at the corners of his mind. He closed his eyes and let the sound of Data’s voice remind him that his soon-to-be First Officer was alive and well. “I’d just like a status update, if you don’t mind, Commander.”

“ _We are still at warp three, on course for Earth. We should arrive in approximately thirteen hours and fifty-two minutes. All systems are functioning normally. Is there something you would like us to check?”_

“No, no,” Picard assured him. “That’s alright. It was merely a curiosity. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“ _I see. Good night, Captain.”_

As the comm link cut off, Picard leaned back against the headboard of his bed. His breathing had calmed, and his heart rate slowed, but he was still far too energized to sleep. He sighed, and stood.

“Computer, lights. And play audio file Chopin, Nocturnes.”

The computer obeyed, and Picard walked over to the replicator, where he made himself a cup of milk toddy.

The nightmare had been remarkably disturbing, Picard reflected as he sipped at his drink. It alarmed him at some level; he had had to face the death of crew members many times before, and none had affected him on such a profound level as Data’s. He’d been already been aware of the powerful effects Data’s death could have on him, as it was hard to forget the pain he’d felt when the Collector had faked Data’s death, or when they had found Data’s head in that cave on Earth. He’d never quite addressed the issue, or offered any explanation for his potent reaction. Perhaps, as Data was a close friend and a member of the bridge crew…. but no. It felt different – like a terrible injustice, like a personal failure, like a tragedy that was wholly unnatural and not ever meant to happen. And that feeling . . . it was somehow, eerily, horribly familiar. Something he’d experienced before, in an entirely different situation.

Picard frowned and watched the stars racing past his window.  There were five hours until alpha shift – plenty of time for him to consider the implications of his dream. He sipped from his toddy, and thought.

* * *

 

The wedding of William Riker and Deanna Troi was as blessed with good weather as it had been in Picard’s dream two nights ago. There was slightly more cloud cover, but in the heat of late June and formal dress uniforms, no one could complain about a little extra shade.

The ceremony itself was beautiful. Picard could have sworn he saw Riker hastily rub away some tears during his vows, but when he asked him about it later, Riker only laughed. The reception was equally elegant, with delicacies from both Earth and Betazed, and although Troi could not _entirely_ control her mother, Lwaxana was admittedly on her very best behavior.

Picard stood at the edge of the dance hall, a glass of champagne in one hand. A string quartet played a cheerful waltz, and the guests danced to the best of their ability, some stumbling around a bit from too much wine. He himself was unused to truly alcoholic beverages, and perhaps had drunk a little too much; his head was slightly buzzing, but not to a distressing degree.

“Hello, Captain.”

Picard glanced up. Data was moving towards him, simultaneously struggling to extricate his leg from the grasp of a small girl who had insisted on dancing with him for the past half hour and was now refusing to rejoin her mother. Finally, Data managed to hand the small girl off to a haggard-looking woman and turned back to Picard.

Picard smiled at him. “Hello, Data. Had enough dancing, then?”

“Oh, I found Julia’s company quite pleasing,” Data assured him. “I would have continued dancing with her, but her mother said that it was ‘time for her nap’.”

“I see. Are you enjoying yourself then?”

“Yes, thank you,” Data replied. “And yourself, Captain?”

Picard tipped his champagne towards Data slightly and smiled good-naturedly. “Oh, yes, I’m quite enjoying listening to the band and watching everyone else dance about.”

Data fixed him with his typical perplexed look and frowned slightly. “Correct me if I am wrong, Captain,” he said. “But is the ‘father of the bride’ not obligated to dance with the bride at least once?”

“Yes, yes, I _know_. Beverly has already been bothering me about it. I’ll get to it _eventually_ – once the happy groom lets go of her for more than five seconds!”

Data glanced over to the dance floor; Riker had just pulled Troi away from another well-wishing crewman to lead her into a lively waltz. “You have a point,” he conceded.

Picard ‘hmm’d in agreement and sipped at his champagne. “Besides, Data, didn’t you say that you were going to sing something for the reception?”

“I did. However, until this moment, I have not yet found a suitable time to do so.”

“Well – why not now? Go on over; tell the band what you want to sing.”

Data lifted his eyebrows in thought. “I believe that would be acceptable.”

Picard tipped his chin meaningfully in the direction of the stage band. “Well, go on then,” he urged. “We’re waiting.”

Without argument, Data set off in the direction of the stage. Picard watched him go, taking a final swig from his champagne, and then set the empty glass on the table beside him.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor of a dance yet?”

“Deanna!” Picard said, delightedly, turning to face her.

Troi was dressed in a flowing white dress that fell in elegant layers around her ankles, with intricate embroidery adoring the bodice. She seemed to almost glow with happiness, and Picard found himself positively beaming right back at her.

“Finally managed to escape Commander Riker, then?” he asked.

She laughed. “In a way. My mother had to intervene.” She gestured, and Picard spotted Lwaxana twirling an unwilling Riker around her arm.

“Good for her,” Picard said.

“What’s Data up to?”

Picard followed her gaze. Data was saying something to the lead violinist, who was nodding enthusiastically at whatever Data was proposing.

Picard smiled. “Oh, it’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Troi echoed, taking Picard’s elbow to lead him onto the dance floor. “I’m intrigued.”

The band swung into a slower, jazz-like tune, and as they watched, Data stepped up to microphone and picked it up. He did not prelude with any sort of speech – the band worked through the first opening measures, and then Data joined them, weaving his voice in with the instruments.

“ _I’ll be loving you, always . . . with a love that’s true, always . . . when the things you’ve planned need a helping hand, I will understand, always.”_

Troi let out a pleased little laugh. “Data!” she said. “Did he learn this song just for the wedding? I haven’t heard it before!”

“Yes, I believe he did.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet of him. Come on, Captain – you still owe me a dance, and I can’t think of something better to dance to than Data’s singing.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Picard obliged, leading her into the first few steps of a dance.

“You know, it’s quite insensitive of you and Commander Riker to be leaving me like this,” Picard teased, as they stepped around a tipsy and stumbling couple. “Abandoning your Captain! I won’t have it!”

Troi laughed. “Oh, I know, I know. Every Captain thinks of their crew as their family and can’t stand the thought of one their hatchlings leaving the nest.”

“Who said anything about sentimentality? It’s merely a terrible inconvenience!”

“Of course, Captain, of course,” Troi indulged him. “But remember, you’re not losing all of your hatchlings.” She tilted her head meaningfully in Data’s direction. “You still have some of us.”

“Hmph.”

“Speaking of Data, did you teach him this song? He’s doing a wonderful job.”

A small smile flit across Picard’s face, despite the grumpy demeanor he had been teasingly trying to project. “Not this one, no. This is the first time I’ve heard it myself.”

“Really? I thought you’d been giving him weekly lessons.”

“That’s true,” Picard said. “But since Data has truly begun to understand his emotions, he’s really thrown himself into his study of the arts. I just can’t keep up with him anymore.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with the warmth of his smile.

Troi grinned back at him. “You sound rather proud of him.”

Picard’s expression grew soft. “I suppose I am.”

Troi raised her eyebrows knowingly and led Picard through another turn on the dance floor. For a few moments, the both of them simply listened to Data’s voice, saying nothing to one another.

Eventually, Troi spoke. “I am glad you’ll still have Data. The whole crew may be your ‘hatchlings’ in a way, but Data’s clearly special. He’s more family to you than anyone else.”

Picard glanced up at her in surprise, and not for the first time, he found himself wondering if she had more telepathic abilities than she believed. He made a non-committal sound, and after a few moments, he replied: “I believe you’re right. A few nights ago, I actually had a rather disturbing nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t remember all the details now, but at the end of the dream, Data was killed trying to save my life. And when I woke up – it didn’t feel like I’d lost a crew member. That’s a horrible feeling in itself, but losing Data felt . . . different. I can’t describe how exactly – but it felt precisely like losing René all over again. It felt like losing a _son_.”

Troi nodded, her eyes gentle. “I always thought Data was a kind of son to you – and you a kind of father to him. I just wasn’t sure if you recognized it.”

Picard smiled tiredly. “You’ve always been remarkably perceptive. I guess there must have been _some_ reason you were counselor on the flagship.”

“Why, thank you, Captain,” Troi said. “Also – out of curiosity, have you told Data about all this?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m not entirely certain how I would. I’ve never been much good with children, including those I’ve inadvertently adopted.”

“You have time,” Troi assured him. “But I hope you will tell him eventually – I think it would mean a lot to Data.”

Picard inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.  

“Also, you _do_ have a few more days’ leave before the _Enterprise_ leaves space dock. Why don’t you bring Data to your family home in France? Teach him about the vines and your hometown, let him meet your sister-in-law.”

Picard appeared to consider this for a moment. “That’s an interesting proposal,” he said. “Unfortunately, Data’s already otherwise occupied for the next couple days – the University of Edinburgh wants him to present a few guest lectures on cybernetics and artificial intelligence. Perhaps next time we visit Earth, I’ll take your advice to heart.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Troi grinned at him mischievously.

They turned around another dancing pair, and then they were unexpectedly intercepted by a beaming Commander Riker.

“Deanna!” he said cheerfully, placing his hand on her wrist and expertly spinning her away from Picard. “There you are – I was wondering where you’d got to!”

“I was _trying_ to spend some time with the other guests here!” Troi laughed. “Have a chance to dance with someone other than you, you big attention-hogging oaf!” But she was grinning widely and allowed Riker to pull her into his arms and plant a playful kiss on her lips.

“What was that you called me? ‘Stunningly-handsome devil’, was it?”

Troi rolled her eyes and kissed him back. “I’ll talk to you later, Captain,” she said, turning slightly to face him. “And in case this big idiot doesn’t let me go, do tell Data that I thought his singing was wonderful?”

“Of course, Deanna.” Picard smiled at the two of them, and as they waltzed off into the crowd, he silently wished them the best of luck on their new ship.

* * *

 

Fourteen hours later, Data stepped off the public air train at the Edinburgh station, a small bag swung over one shoulder. He was dressed in brown slacks and a simple black shirt – his favorite of the few sets of civilian clothing he owned.

He craned his neck, searching the platform for the escort his contact at the university had promised him. For a few moments, he did not see anyone that fit the description – but then his eyes fell on a small, jittery-looking man that was partially concealed behind a trash receptacle. The man was holding a PADD with a simple black and white display reading “Lt. Cdr. Data”.

 Data approached the man, hefting his bag higher up on his shoulder. “Hello,” he said as he drew near. “I am Lieutenant Commander Data. Are you from the university?”

The man jumped, apparently not anticipating Data’s arrival. “O-oh!” he stammered. “Yes, I am M-mister Hilkins, and I am supposed to show you to your accommodations for the weekend.”

“That would be appreciated,” Data replied.

“A-ah, yes. If you’d follow me, Mr. Data . . .”

Mr. Hilkins lead Data out of the air train station, where a black hovercar was humming quietly by the curb of the road. He opened the passenger seat door and moved aside, allowing Data to step in. 

“Would you like me to put your bag in the back, sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” Data replied. He handed his bag over with a small, friendly smile and stepped into the hovercar.

Mr. Hilkins smiled back and shut the door.

Data had only just enough time to recognize the sound of movement in the backseat when a suddenly a cold bar was pressed against his neck, and a strong pulse of electricity was coursing through his systems, paralyzing him and overloading his systems. A jolt of terror coursed through his system – but then the electricity found the emotion chip, and Data felt nothing as his body continued to convulse.

The world faded away. Data slumped forwards, inactive. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Four hours before departure from spacedock._

Picard stepped off the transporter pad of the _Enterprise-E_ and hoisted his bag back up onto his shoulder.

“Welcome back, Captain,” the transporter chief said, and Picard returned his greeting with a smile.

“Thank you, Chief Kelley. Is Commander Data on board?”

“Not yet, sir. Shall I send him to you when he arrives?”

“No, no, that’s not necessary. Just let me know when he comes on board.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Very good.” 

* * *

 

_Two hours before departure from spacedock._

“Picard to Chief Kelley.”

_“Chief Kelley here, Captain.”_

“Has Data arrived yet?”

_“No, sir. My apologies.”_

“I see. Can you track his combadge?”

_“It’s on board, Captain. He must not have taken it with him during shore leave.”_

“I see. Let me know when he arrives.”

_“Yessir.”_

Picard cut the com link and frowned. Surely Data knew that he was needed on board some time before departure in order to make last-minute adjustments to the new crew roster and other similar duties? It may be Data’s first time as appointed First Officer, but he’d been on board the _Enterprise_ long enough to understand how things worked.

Picard’s expression was dark. Something felt deeply wrong, but with two full hours until departure, there was hardly reason for considerable concern. He would have to be patient – for now. 

* * *

 

_One hour before departure from spacedock._

Picard sat in his ready-room and absent-mindedly watched the bubbles rise in the fish tank. He had completed all of the Captain’s pre-departure duties, and the majority of those of the First Officer as well. He sincerely hoped that Data’s tardiness was merely an oversight. As much as he hated to discipline Data, especially on his first day in his new promotion, it was certainly better than the alternatives.

He sighed and stood. Perhaps a hot tea would help soothe his nerves. 

* * *

 

_Thirty minutes before departure from spacedock._

_“Hadfield to Captain Picard.”_

“Picard here.”

_“The head of the faculty of cybernetics at the University of Edinburgh is ready to speak with you, as you requested, sir.”_

“Thank you. Link it through to my ready room.”

_“Aye, sir.”_

Captain Picard turned to his screen and leaned forward to flick it on. A few seconds later, the usual waiting display winked out, and then the image of a firm-looking woman with neatly pinned hair filled the screen.

“Professor Ramsey,” Picard greeted, smiling slightly. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me on such short notice.”

“Of course, Captain,” she replied. “But I can’t say I expected you.”

“Understandable. I was just wondering as to the location of Commander Data? The _Enterprise_ is due to leave spacedock in a half hour, and he hasn’t arrived yet. I understand he was doing guest lectures in your faculty this past week, so I wanted to ensure that he has departed safely from the University.”

Professor Ramsey stared at him. Her eyebrows furrowed as she gave him a look of utter bewilderment. “Commander Data?” she echoed. “I know of him, certainly, anyone in our field does, but he wasn’t doing any lectures at the University of Edinburgh, not under my faculty at least. I wasn’t aware he was on Earth. Are you sure you weren’t misinformed?”

A cold dread began to creep up his chest. “Data himself told me he would be spending the week guest lecturing for you.”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Professor Ramsey replied, and to her credit, she looked genuinely distressed. “But I really can’t help you – I haven’t heard anything about Data’s whereabouts.”

Picard forced a small smile. “I see. Thank you for your help, in any case.”

“Of course. If there’s anything we can do to help find Commander Data, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Picard nodded. “I will do so. Picard out.”

The screen winked out, but before the image had gone completely black, Picard was out of his seat and striding determinedly onto the bridge of his ship.

“Picard to LaForge – I want you to get into Data’s files and confirm that he intended to go to the University of Edinburgh this week.”

_“Yessir.”_

“Good, and make it quick.”

_“Will do, Captain.”_

The com link cut, and Picard spun on his heel to face his new tactical officer – Lieutenant Hadfield, a deceptively easy-going man capable of a bone-chilling glare. “Mr. Hadfield, get me Admiral Perkins immediately,” he barked. “Tell him it is urgent.”

Lieutenant Hadfield’s easy smile hardened into a steely gaze as he met Picard’s eyes, and he nodded curtly. “Aye, Captain.” He turned to the console and began to type out the summons.

A lesser officer would not have been able to sit still. But years of captaining the Federation flagship had given Picard a degree of emotional control that even a Vulcan could respect. He stalked over to his chair and sat down, with a tug on his uniform to smooth it.

“Admiral Perkins is ready to speak to you,” Lieutenant Hadfield said after a moment.

“Good. On screen.”

The viewscreen filled with the image of Admiral Perkins’ lined face, arranged in an expression of slight irritation. “Admiral Perkins here. What is it, Captain Picard?”

“I request a delay in departure time. One of my officers is missing.”

At his words, the atmosphere of the bridge tensed. Picard could sense the crew’s silent questions, but to their credit, no one made a sound.

Admiral Perkins’ eyes narrowed. “With all due respect, Captain, the _Enterprise_ is expected at the Theran Gamma research colony. If one of your officers is late, we will have them rendezvous with you at an appropriate time.”

“You misunderstand,” Picard replied sharply. “The officer who is missing is my First Officer, Commander _Data_. He is not someone who could merely _oversleep_. Furthermore, I have contacted the people Data said he would be working for, and they hadn’t heard anything about him – they weren’t even aware he was on Earth. And the Theran Gamma research colony surely would not be too disadvantaged by their inspection occurring a few hours later?”

Admiral Perkins looked at him, considering. “Very well. You have two hours. We will give you whatever help we can in finding Commander Data, but if you have not found him in two hours, appoint an Acting First Officer, and we’ll continue the search while you go on to Theran Gamma.”

Picard tensed. Two hours was not nearly enough time to conduct a thorough search, not nearly what Data deserved. But it was better than the twenty minutes he had left – and if he had not found Data in those two hours, he fully intended to argue for more time. “Agreed,” he said after a moment. “Thank you, Admiral.”

Admiral Perkins nodded. “Perkins out.”

The screen returned to its display of the stars, and Picard turned to his crew. “Inform the rest of the ship that we will be departing at least two hours behind schedule, and then organize a search effort. We must find Commander Data,” he ordered.

“Yessir!” Lieutenant Hadfield replied. He began to move between the stations, barking orders and organizing the crew.

_“LaForge to Picard.”_

“Picard here. What have you found, Commander?”

_“There is a correspondence in Data’s files that looks like it was from the University of Edinburgh, so that’s certainly where Data thought he was going. But closer inspection shows that the sender’s information was forged. I’m working on tracing the actual origin at the moment, see who wanted to lure him out.”_

Picard’s lips thinned. Foul play was seeming more and more likely, much to his concern. “Good work,” he said. “Check if Data actually made it to Edinburgh, or if he was intercepted before his arrival.”

“ _Already done, sir. His ticket was stamped on arrival to the train, and then stamped again when he retrieved his luggage. It seems he made it to Edinburgh in one piece.”_

“Any indication of where he went after that?”

“ _No, sir. The trail ends at the station.”_

“Very well. Prepare an away team to go down to the station and see what they will discover. Continue your trace.”

“ _Yes, sir.”_

* * *

 

Picard rarely joined away teams, except when he was needed in missions of diplomacy or of similar veins. But with his First Officer missing, and Geordi busy with the trace, he was the only senior officer available with a thorough understanding of Data, and there wasn’t much he could do on the ship anyway.

He beamed down with Lieutenant Hadfield and two other security officers to the Central Edinburgh Air Tram Station, where they were met by a helpful and apologetic stationmaster.

“I am so sorry about this happening, Captain! I will help you in any way I can,” the stationmaster assured them for the sixth time, wringing her hands anxiously. “I’ve already spoken to all the employees I had working that day, and one of them says he did see your officer. I brought him, if you want to talk to him?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Picard said with a small smile, in a fruitless attempt to try to calm her nerves. “I’ll go talk to him – Mr. Hadfield, why don’t you scan the station, see if Data left any kind of trail for us to follow?”

“Aye, sir,” Hadfield acknowledged. “Mirol, Suvok, with me.”

Lieutenant Hadfield and the security team flipped open their tricorders and waved them before themselves as they began to make their way towards the platform.

Picard turned back to the stationmaster. “Where is this employee I can talk to?”

“Just inside in my office,” she replied. “I’ll show you – here, follow me.”

The young man inside the office was just as nervous as the stationmaster herself, and three times as jumpy. When the door opened, he let out a kind of yelp, and then made a rather horrified expression. Cordially, Picard smiled. The boy, evidently, was too frightened to smile back.

“Hello,” Picard said gently. “I’m Captain Picard. And you are?”

“Oh – uh, I’m Jason. Jason Tyler, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler. I hear you saw something the day my First Officer, Commander Data, arrived here?”

The boy chewed his lip and nodded jerkily. “Yes, sir. I, uh, noticed because, you know, his skin – it’s different. Yellow, right?” Picard smile’s stiffened as Jason began to ramble, and hastily, Jason continued: “I was looking at him and trying to figure out his species and some guy met him on the platform. Uh, Commander Data didn’t seem surprised to see him, I think. But the guy led him to a hovercar, and they got in and drove away. I had no idea something bad was gonna happen to him, or I would have done something, I swear!”

“I believe you,” Picard assured him, as Jason fixed him with a wide-eyed, pleading stare. “I just want to know if you saw anything that can help us. Can you describe the hovercar?”

“Oh – er. It was black, and had tinted windows. And it was a rental – there was a sticker on the back that said ‘Alpha Proxima Rentals’.”

“Alpha Proxima? Are you certain?”

Jason nodded vigorously. “Yes, completely. My dad works there, you know. I’d recognize that sticker anywhere.”

“I see.” Picard pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “Is there anything else?”

Jason’s momentary confidence seemed to evaporate on the spot. “Er…. no, that’s it… I mean… sorry, that’s all I can think of.”

It wasn’t much, but it was more to go on than they’d had five minutes ago; it was a start. “That’s quite alright,” Picard assured him. “You’ve done more than enough to help. Thank you, Mr. Tyler.”

“Yes, of course! I hope you find him, sir.”

Picard met his eyes. Jason’s expression was concerned and earnest, and Picard could not help offering a small, weak smile. “Thank you, Jason. I hope so, too.”

He turned, and left the office.

An hour later, the away team had found no new leads. They had swept the entire station three times, and had even fanned out two blocks in either direction, but not further evidence had been found. Picard was growing more restless by the minute, hyperaware of their looming departure hour and lack of substantial leads to warrant extending that time. He inhaled deeply, trying fruitlessly to calm himself. _Data._ His nightmare was still uncomfortably recent, and as much as he knew dreams had no prophetic qualities, he could not help the mounting anxiety.

The combadge blipped, and Picard jumped as Geordi’s voice abruptly broke through his thoughts. _“LaForge to Picard.”_

“Picard here. What have you got, Commander?”

_“I think I know what happened to Data, sir._ ” Geordi’s voice was rushed, as if he were excited and anxious to jump into action. _“I spoke to the rental hovercar company, and they said there was only one of their cars logged at the air tram station at the time of Data’s arrival.”_

Picard straightened, and swallowed hard. “Who was it?” he demanded sharply. “Are they still registered? Do we know where the hovercar is now?”

_“The hovercar in question has since been returned, but it was rented out to a Ferengi by the name of Farak.”_

Picard gritted his teeth. A Ferengi. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, Data being as unique and singularly valuable as he was, but he’d thought that even the unscrupulous Ferengi wouldn’t stoop so far as to kidnapping a sentient being. Apparently, that had been a generous miscalculation.

“Where is Farak now?” he asked.

_“Farak’s ship, the Manbi, departed from Earth spacedock the day Data went missing, only a few hours after the air tram arrived at Edinburgh station. He set a course straight for Cardassian space, after updating his trade papers to enter Cardassian territory.”_

Picard swore loudly.

_“I second that, sir,”_ Geordi replied grimly. _“But if we’re lucky, we might be able to intercept them before they cross the border.”_

“Very well,” Picard said _._ “I’ll beam up. Get Admiral Perkins on the line again, and I’ll speak to him in my ready room.”

_“Aye, Captain.”_

Picard cut the comlink, and called out for the away team to regroup.

Finally, they were getting somewhere. Picard was about ready to crawl out of his skin – forget procedure, he wanted to jump to warp nine and chase after Farak, phasers and torpedoes blazing. But, he supposed ruefully, jeopardizing his career wouldn’t help much in the long run. And besides, Data was a competent senior officer, with more than thirty years in the service. He could take care of himself for a while.

The away team transported up, and with barely a nod of acknowledgment to the transporter chief, Picard strode out of the room. Three minutes later, he was sitting, slightly-winded, in his ready room, and Admiral Perkins was on the screen.

“Hello again, Captain. Have you found your First Officer?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Picard replied. “But we believe we know what happened to him, and I respectfully request permission to retrieve him.”

“Oh? What have you found?”

Picard quickly recounted the events and discoveries of the past two hours, and as he spoke, Admiral Perkins nodded solemnly, a deep frown on his face.

“I see,” Perkins said, when Picard had finished. “So, you want to go after Farak and try to intercept him before he gets to Cardassian territory?”

“Yes, sir.”

Perkins shook his head ruefully. “I’m sorry, Captain. I can’t authorize that. Even if you were to intercept them before they crossed the border, we’re currently in the middle of a very sensitive period of diplomatic talks with the Cardassians. We need this to go well so that we can end this conflict between us once and for all, and we can’t risk starships – especially the flagship – getting so close to their territory at this time. They might consider it threatening.”

Picard felt his jaw stiffen. Cold fury spiked through his system, but when he spoke, his voice was deceptively calm. “Admiral, Data is a Starfleet officer. While he may have agreed to certain risks when he signed up to serve, we also have a duty to leave no man behind. We have an obligation to try to get him back.”

“I understand that,” Perkins replied. “And I’ll make sure Data’s welfare is mentioned to the Cardassians and is somewhere on the table during the discussions. But we need to end this war, and we can’t jeopardize that for one officer. I’m sorry, Captain. I know you feel responsible for him, but Data’s on his own for now. We’ll try to get him back as soon as we can. All I can say is at least he doesn’t have any family back home waiting for him.”

“He _does_.”

“I beg your pardon?” Perkins raised an eyebrow.

Picard lips thinned. The words had slipped out before he had thought about them. The frustration and righteous anger about Starfleet trying to ignore Data’s welfare for the sake of the _greater good_ had him wound tighter than a ball of knots, and Perkins’ implication that the danger Data was in was somehow less profound because he _didn’t have a family_ was enough to make Picard snap. But whether or not the words had been entirely thought through didn’t make them any less true, and Picard was not about to step down.

“He does have a family,” Picard repeated. “ _I_ am his family, and the Enterprise is his home.”

Perkins fixed him with a doubtful look. “Jean-Luc,” he said gently. “I know every captain would like to think that their crew is a family, more so than that on most ships --”

“Admiral, I’m not talking about the entire crew,” Picard interrupted. “I’m talking about myself, and of Data, who is different from any other officer in the fleet. When he arrived on my ship, he was as naïve and innocent as a child, and in the ten years he has been under my command, I have _personally_ guided through emotional awareness, personal identity, and essential life skills. I have taught him literature and philosophy and music, and I have taken pride in his accomplishments. In return, Data has given me trust and respect, and he has lived his life in accordance to the principles I have taught him. Data is as much my son as any biological child would be, and I – I care for him accordingly. I want him home.”

Perkins stared, perplexed. His brow was furrowed, mouth half agape. “You’re calling Commander Data – the _android_ – your son?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Picard replied vehemently. “Is anything I told you inconsistent with that interpretation?”

“No,” Perkins admitted. “You’re serious about it?”

“Unequivocally.”

Perkins pursed his lips and inhaled visibly. There were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. “I honestly can’t authorize the Enterprise to go so close to Cardassian space. I’m sorry, but that’s the way things are.”

“Admiral –!”

“Hear me out, Captain,” Perkins interrupted. “From what I’ve heard, you have more than a year of leave saved up, don’t you?”

Picard meet his eyes with a steely glare. “I do not need _shore leave_.”

“ _Listen_. Starfleet can’t get into Cardassian territory, but civilians can. I know a pretty good civilian pilot for hire with a hardy ship that can do about warp seven. Take off your uniform, and go after him. The _Enterprise_ doesn’t need you on the bridge for now, not on a mission like this one. Leave the ship in the hands of your very competent officers, and find Data.”

Picard’s eyebrows rose, and he could feel tension beginning to melt off his limbs. “…I see. Thank you, Admiral.”

Perkins smiled wryly. “Of course, Captain.” His eyes were weary, and sad. “I lost my daughter to this war already – Commander Julia Perkins, First Officer of the _Echo_. I’m not going lose any more children to it.”

Picard nodded curtly, finding no words with which to reply.

“I’ll send you the information about my contact,” Perkins continued. “You bring the Commander home, you hear? That’s an order.”

“Aye, sir,” Picard replied.

“Good. The best of luck to you. Perkins out.”

* * *

Data awoke with a jolt, as every system in his body rebooted itself simultaneously. His eyes snapped open, and he was immediately aware of the rumbling sounds of a small starship travelling at warp speed, and of someone else breathing in the room.

He tried to sit up. Nothing happened.

His breath hitched involuntarily, a minor reaction to the sudden fear that coursed through his consciousness – apparently, his emotion chip was functioning just fine – and he tried to move once more. Again nothing.

“Are you awake?”

Data found that his neck muscles still responded, and he turned his head to face the speaker. A young Ferengi stood at his side, a leering smile wide on his face.

“I am.” His voice and facial muscles still worked. “Where am I?”

“On my ship,” the Ferengi replied proudly. “The _Mambi_. My name is Farak. Nice to meet you.”

“What are you doing with me?” Fear had found its way into Data’s voice, making his words waver. Farak’s grin widened. Data swallowed and tried to switch off his emotion chip – but again, nothing happened. The chip must have been fused into his circuits, he realized with a sense of dread; he was stuck with it.

“There’s a very _wealthy_ client who is willing to pay quite a lot for a piece of technology as sophisticated as you,” Farak said, leer still in place. “I’m going to make him a happy customer.”

“This is a crime,” Data informed him. “I am recognized as a sentient being. Therefore, you are committing a kidnapping with intent to sell, which is punishable by Federation law with thirty years on a penal colony.”

“Only if I’m caught!” Farak replied cheerfully. “And I certainly don’t intend to be.”

“….I see. Why can’t I move?”

“So you noticed! Good, good, very good. Well, I can’t have you trying to escape all the time, so I have attached a little device to your neck designed to inhibit those signals. You’re not going anywhere.”

Data did not reply.

“Well!” Farak said, and clapped his hands together. “Can’t stand to chat all day, got a ship to run! Perhaps I’ll stop by again later – or, then again, perhaps not. You don’t even need to eat, do you?”

Again, Data did not respond, but it appeared that Farak had not been waiting for a reply.

“Get comfy; you’re not moving for a few weeks!” he said, and then he moved out of Data’s line of sight.

A loud clang signaled Farak’s departure, and Data turned his head back up to the ceiling. The lights were still on – that was one small mercy. He let out a small sigh.

He was on an alien vessel travelling at warp speed in an unknown direction. He was meant to be sold, he could not move, and now he was alone. Data’s eyes burned. Recognizing the sensation of oncoming tears, Data squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard.

Again, he tried to switch off his emotion chip. Again, nothing happened. 


	3. Chapter 3

After a few hours, the tears dried up, and Data lay listless on the hard bed, his breath slow. He let his eyes slide shut, wishing that somehow he could wipe the remaining tears from his face – he found the wetness somewhat unpleasant – but as his hands were still immobile, he resigned himself to waiting for the tears to dry on their own.

He felt vaguely guilty for letting his emotions get the better of him. Most Starfleet officers would not have cried, he knew, and certainly there were no other commanders in the fleet who would have wasted so many hours wallowing in their own fear and self-pity. Starfleet may not truly abide to the Vulcan philosophy of complete emotional control, but nevertheless, inefficiency due to emotions was strongly discouraged.

He gritted his teeth against a budding sense of frustration and self-disappointment, and struggled to keep his breathing even. Counselor Troi had warned him that it would be some time before he developed the awareness and mechanisms necessary to properly control his emotions. “Be patient,” she’d said. “Most of us have had years of practice in recognizing and curbing our feelings. You haven’t had that opportunity; your emotional experience is equivalent to that of a human toddler, who are quite notoriously explosive. Give yourself time to learn.”

It was difficult to be patient, unfortunately, when his emotional control was impeding his thought processes. He inhaled slowly and focused on slowly relaxing each of his limbs. Troi had emphasized the importance of practical thinking and avoiding rumination, and in this situation, the most practical course of action was planning a method of escape.

His first goal would have to be to regain control of his limbs; there was little he could do without motor function below his neck. He rocked his neck to one side, feeling the skin stretch around the inhibitor, but the device didn’t jostle or give any sign of being loose. He shook his head violently, but again, the device adjusted smoothly to his movement. He would have to remove its influence another way.

Data turned his head to the right and began to study his surroundings properly.

He was in a small room, smaller than the brig cells back on the Enterprise. There was enough room for the metallic bed he was on – which was entirely too small for his body – and a pair of slide-out appliances which Data inferred made up the bathroom. There was no replicator or control panel of any sort, not even a communications panel. The door itself was a physical structure that appeared to be made of perhaps parsteel, rather than a force field like in the brig of the _Enterprise_ ;if given control of his limbs, Data could easily remove the door by hand. The room was entirely unadorned.

Data stretched his neck to the side, and he was pleased to discover that the bed was small enough for him to be able to hook the back of his head over the edge. He tightened the muscles in his neck and pulled hard, using the back of his head as an anchor. Almost imperceptibly, his body moved. It was only by a few centimeters, but it was progress. If he’d had anything less than superhuman strength, it wouldn’t have worked, but for once, Data was pleased to be an android.

Data adjusted the angle of his head and tugged again.

It was hard, slow work, but after about fifteen minutes of careful pulling, Data’s body was hanging half-off the bed. For a moment, he paused, and reveled in his growing sensation of pride. _Intriguing,_ he thought. He believed he was beginning to understand the appeal some humans felt for risky situations. Not that he felt any desire to be kidnapped again in the future, of course – but nevertheless, he could not deny that there was a certain kind of pleasure connected to succeeding when the odds were against him.

Data flung his head to the side, and the sudden shift in the distribution of weight was enough to send him toppling over the edge.

He fell with a loud thump, and forced out a cry of surprise and feigned pain. He felt some of the artificial skin of his face scrape away, and although he felt some regret at the injury, he was also pleased – his appearance would make the next part of his plan much more likely to succeed.

He’d fallen clear of the bed, his neck untouched by the edge, but by just barely enough to appear as if he’d tried to knock the inhibitor loose. He was not foolish enough to actually try to wrench the inhibitor out; if the device broke and components remained in his neck, he could cause a serious malfunction that might extend to his primary systems. The Ferengi, however, probably expected him to try to escape, and would not be surprised if he’d risked his safety in the attempt.

“Help!” he cried out. “Help! I believe something is wrong!”

A panel near the middle of the door slid open, and a Ferengi face appeared in the window. “Do not believe you can fool me, an-droid,” the Ferengi hissed. “I will not fall for your tricks!”

“I am not attempting to deceive you,” Data pleaded, and he lifted his head to show the damaged side of his face. “I tried to remove the inhibitor, but I believe I have damaged it.” He faked a spasm in his face and froze one side of his mouth in a grotesque expression. “The specificity functioning of the device has been compromised. It is beginning to inhibit all my systems – including the primary ones. Please,” he said, letting a tone of desperation and fear that was entirely feigned into his voice. “I don’t want to die.”

“You are incapable of _dying_ ,” the Ferengi snapped, but there was a look of uncertainty in his expression.

“I am damaged,” Data insisted. “I will cease to function if the inhibitor is not fixed. Please help me.”

“How do I know you’re not lying, android? How do I know you’re not trying to escape?”

“I have already attempted to escape,” Data replied reasonably. “I was unsuccessful, and have placed my life in danger. I only want to repair the damage. I am not programmed to lie.”

“It’s true,” said another Ferengi. “I’ve heard he can’t lie. He must be telling the truth – and we can’t sell broken goods! Our names as traders will be blackened!”

Data felt a small spark of pride, mingled with amusement. It was true that he was not _programmed_ to lie – however, as the Ferengi’s source was apparently unaware, he had long since developed the ability to bypass his programming when necessary. Ironically, he had achieved that ability the _last_ time he had been kidnapped by someone who considered him monetarily valuable.

“But what do you want me to do?” the first Ferengi was saying. “We can’t just release him!”

“We have to do _something_ ,” the second replied. “If he breaks down, we won’t be able to sell him! Let’s take that inhibitor off before it breaks him, and tie him up instead, so that he can’t move but isn’t going to die because Farak decided to show off his recent technological acquisitions!”

The first Ferengi appeared to ponder this for a moment. “Let’s not risk something as simple as ropes. I’m sure an android as sophisticated as this one could figure out how to escape that easily. But we _do_ have those duridium cuffs, don’t we?”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” the second hissed. “There’s no way he could escape from those. Go fetch them.”

“Please hurry,” Data urged for good measure. “My visual receptors are no longer transmitting information.”

The Ferengi cursed and slammed the panel shut. Data could hear him hastily scampering away, and he allowed himself a small, pleased smile. As he’d expected, the Ferengi’s arrogance allowed them to easily accept rumors of his limitations, while dismissing those of his abilities that would surpass their own.

A few moments later, the door opened, and one of the Ferengi hurried in, carrying what Data assumed were the duridium cuffs. There were two sets – one, Data assumed, would be for his feet.

The Ferengi hastily pulled Data into a sitting position and snapped the cuffs into place. They were stiff restraints of a rigid bar style, so there was no chain to allow for any degree of freedom of movement. One set of cuffs trapped his wrists behind his back. The other kept his legs straight out before him.

The Ferengi tugged on the cuffs slightly to check that they were locked. Apparently satisfied, he straightened, and then carefully unlocked the inhibitor from Data’s neck.

Immediately, sensation began to flood back into Data’s limbs. He let the frozen expression drain from his face, and he slumped back against the bed as if in obvious relief. Behind his back, he wriggled his fingers experimentally and was pleased to note that his motor functions did not appear compromised.

“There,” the Ferengi said. “Now you are functional and should have no more complaints.”

“Yes, thank you,” Data replied gravely. “You may have saved my life; I am in your debt.”

The Ferengi sneered. “I will collect on that debt. Don’t you forget it.”

Leaving Data sitting on the hard, cold floor, his wrists and ankles chained together, the Ferengi scuttled back out of the room and shut the door with a loud clang.

When he was gone, Data pulled his knees up and carefully, precariously, wobbled to his feet. After the hours of being paralyzed, even his restricted movement felt liberating, and he could resist rolling his shoulders just because he _could_.

Once he had determined that motor function had returned to all systems, he stiffened his arms and began to pull against the cuffs. The cuffs easily bent under the force of his limbs, although they chafed slightly at his skin.

Pleased, Data relaxed. He knew it would not be sensible to attempt an escape now, when he had so little information about security, crew compliment, shuttle locations, current course, and other vital statuses, but he was free to move, and thus prepared for any opportunity to escape. Despite the powerful emotions still raging within him, he had made progress – and he found, to his delight, that the violent sensations of fear and loss had mitigated significantly, replaced instead with accomplishment and exhilaration.

With a small, self-satisfied smile, Data sat back on the bed and prepared to wait for the next phase of his plan to fall into place.

* * *

 Back on board the _Enterprise-E_ , Picard adjusted the collar on his civilian clothes and swung his bag over one shoulder. It was unusual not to feel the collar of his uniform brushing against his neck, but it would have to do. He couldn’t exactly waltz into Cardassian territory wearing a Starfleet uniform and claim to be on a civilian mission.

“All ready to go, sir?” Chief Kelley asked.

“Ah, yes,” Picard replied, and stepped up onto the transporter pad. “Whenever--,”

“Captain!”

The door to the transporter room had swooshed open, and Picard and Chief Kelley turned simultaneously to see Geordi dash into the room, dressed in civilian slacks and breathing hard.

“Commander LaForge?” Picard asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m coming with you, Captain,” Geordi replied, and hefted his own bag onto his shoulder. “I’m going to help you find Data.”

Picard frowned. “Commander, I need you on the bridge. _Someone_ needs to captain this ship while I look for him, and you’re the most senior officer we have left.”

“With all due respect, Captain,” Geordi cut in. “Lieutenant Hadfield can handle inspecting a science colony just fine. And if Data is injured . . . no offense Captain, but you’re not qualified to put him back together. You’re going to need me.”

Picard, of course, had considered the possibility of Data being hurt, and Geordi was correct to say that he was the most capable of caring for Data’s wounds and malfunctions. But it wasn’t doubt in Geordi’s abilities that had made Picard tell him to say behind. “The mission I am going on now is completely off the record,” he said. “When Starfleet finds out about my actions, there is a risk that everyone involved will be court martialed. I can’t ask you to put your career in jeopardy.”

“Understood,” Geordi replied, and stepped up onto the transporter pad next to Picard. “You’re not asking. I’m volunteering.”

Picard surveyed Geordi thoughtfully. Geordi had been one of the first individuals on the ship to extend a hand of true friendship towards Data – perhaps it was the engineer in him, but he’d seen past the individual circuits and components and understood the _person_ they created. Even when Picard himself had had difficulty reconciling Data’s android nature with his personhood, Geordi had always had a natural instinct for understanding him. Picard had watched the development of their friendship from afar, and while he was not privy to all the finer nuances of their relationship, he found himself awed by the devotion and loyalty shared by the two on several occasions. Despite himself, he smiled slightly. Data had a rare friend in Geordi, and there was no one else he could better count on in a mission to bring Data home.

“Good to have you along,” Picard said, with a small nod.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Picard turned to Chief Kelley. “Energize.”

They beamed down to the civilian’s section of Earth Spacedock, which was, as always, bustling with activity, considerably more so than the Starfleet areas were. People jostled and hurried about, shouting over one another to be heard in the din, and somewhere in the background, Picard could hear a baby begin to cry.

Picard checked the chronometer on the wall. 0847. “Come on,” he said brusquely, and began to shoulder his way through the crowd. “We have an appointment with the pilot of an independent craft in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Aye, sir,” Geordi replied.

With some difficulty, they pushed their way through the jostling crowd to the docking stations on the other side of the enormous lobby.

“Which one, Captain?”

“Dock sixteen-D,” Picard replied as he scanned the signs.

“Over here, sir!”

Picard glanced up. Geordi was pointing at a large sign to the right that designated an adjoining corridor as leading through docks 16-A through 16-J.

“Good, good,” Picard said. “Let’s go.”

They pushed their way through the throng of people and made their way into the hallway, which was just as crowded and bustling as the lobby outside. Between the struggle against the tide of people and the sheer distance between each of the docking ports, it took Geordi and the Captain the remaining thirteen minutes to make it to the entrance to docking port 16-D.

By the time they arrived, at exactly 0900, they were looking slightly rumbled and worse for wear, and there was a small woman with a long, thin ponytail, leaning up against the wall next to the docking port. As they approached, her gaze lifted.

“Ah, Captain Jean-Luc Picard,” she greeted. “Perfectly punctual, I see.” She grinned wryly, and then her eyes slide to Geordi, who was quietly adjusting the straps of his bag. “Who is your companion? I only expected one passenger.”

“Commander Geordi LaForge,” Picard replied. “He is my head engineer on board the _Enterprise_ , and I believe his expertise may be useful. I apologize for the late notice.”

“Never mind, never mind. I can accommodate an extra – and an engineer who knows what he’s doing is always welcome.”

“Glad to hear it,” Geordi replied, and then proffered his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She took it, and gave it a firm shake. “Likewise. I’m Mi-Hyun Choi,” she said. “Pilot and owner of the _Sparrow_.”

He nodded, and offered her a small smile.

Mi-Hyun pulled her hand back, and then turned to Picard. “Shall we go inside and get started?”

Picard inclined his head.

She turned back to the docking port and rapidly keyed in her code to the access panel by the side of the circular door. The panel bleeped, and then the door let out a loud hiss as it began to roll to the side. Mi-Hyun turned back to Geordi and Picard, and held out one hand with a proud little flourish.

“If you will follow me.”

She led them through the door, then moved to one side to help them step down into the ship with a proffered guiding hand.

The _Sparrow_ was approximately double the size of an average shuttlecraft, but considerably more cluttered. The walls were a smooth dark grey, illuminated by fluorescent lighting that followed the perimeter of the ceiling, and the floor was made of some sort of brushed steel. Relays and tubing hung from the ceiling, forming makeshift connections between various systems and making Picard duck as he stepped inside. A few stray isolinear chips lay on the floor near a console, and several panels had no covering. As he peered around the entry room, he noted, to his slight surprise, a medley of technology from various cultures, including Federation, Ferengi, Klingon, and even several that Picard didn’t recognize at all. Yet, despite the craft’s patchwork appearance, it somehow gave the impression of being sturdy and maneuverable; the hum of the engines reverberated through the hull in a pleasant way, and instinctively, Picard knew this was a ship he could trust. Judging by the expression of awed appreciation on Geordi’s face, he was not alone in his conclusion. 

“She’s capable of up to warp seven, is armed with a phaser bank and ten photon torpedoes, and can comfortably house up to ten people,” Mi-Hyun was saying. “I know that’s not much, compared to that sovereign-class starship you’re used to, but she’s one of the best civilian crafts you’re gonna find.”

“Hmm,” Picard mused in acknowledgment, as he ran his hand over one of the consoles. Remarkably, it had been recently polished. “Has Admiral Perkins briefed you about the nature of our mission?”

Mi-Hyun inclined her head. “This is certainly not the first time that I’ve been commissioned for a dangerous, unofficial mission for Starfleet.” She lifted one eyebrow slightly. “Although – a captain leaving his post to go after his kidnapped son? That’s a first. Can’t say I mind the change, though.”

Picard felt Geordi’s eyes burning an inquisitive hole into the back of his head, but Geordi did not voice his questions, and Picard did not offer an explanation – not yet. “Then you are prepared to pass the Cardassian border, should the need arise?”

“Certainly.” She turned towards the viewscreen of the vessel and rested her hand on one of the consoles with a lopsided smile. “I got us a cloaking device right here. A certain Klingon captain owed me a favor, and since _you’re_ too well known for a cover story to have much success, this guy should get us right through.” At the surprised look on Picard’s face, she smirked. “Starfleet isn’t the only one who commissions me. Of course, I’ve been sworn to secrecy on both fronts, so if you’re going to ask for the cloaking technology, you can forget it – I like my head where it is, thank you very much.”

“Understood. What is your fee for the mission?”

“Hmm…,” she mulled it over for a moment – although Picard had the distinct impression that she was only pretending to think about a price. “Five bars of gold-pressed latinum,” she said finally. “Plus reparations for any damages I acquire over the course of the mission.”

“Done,” Picard replied quickly.

Mi-Hyun’s eyebrows rose sharply, but he ignored her. He knew that she was asking a steep price – too steep, in fact – but he had no desire to waste time haggling for a price. His first officer was invaluable, at any rate, and no monetary price was too great to get him home. He turned away from the viewscreen and strode towards the back of the ship, hands clasped behind him. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”

“Almost immediately,” Mi-Hyun replied, still looking a little bemused at her stroke of good fortune. “I can put in the request for departure right now, and then it is only a question of when they clear us to leave the spacedock. For that price, I’ll even forgo the down payment.”

Picard nodded curtly. “Make it so.”

She grinned. “Your wish is my command. Geordi, would you like to be my co-pilot?”

“I would be honored,” Geordi replied, and he swung himself into the left-hand chair.

It was slightly unusual not to have his own Captain’s chair, but Picard found himself a place to stand at attention behind the conn, and he fixed his eyes on the viewscreen as Mi-Hyun contacted spacedock control.

Five minutes later, they were cleared to depart. The docking clamps released the _Sparrow_ with loud, clunking thuds of machinery, and the engines’ hum grew in magnitude as the warp and impulse drives came online. The _Sparrow_ began to drift away from the side of the spacedock, and slowly, Mi-Hyun brought it into a turn so that the nose was pointing out into the wide expanse of space.

“We have cleared the spacedock,” Mi-Hyun announced. “Awaiting your command.”

Picard nodded. “Good. Impulse drive until we’re clear of the system. Then head towards Cardassian space, following the _Manbi_ ’s flight plan. Warp seven.”

“Yessir.”

She quickly inputted a command into the conn panel, and then the _Sparrow_ took off – speeding past Mars, Saturn, Neptune . . . out into sector space, towards the Cardassian border.

_We’re coming for you, Data_ , Picard thought to himself in silent prayer. _Hold on._


End file.
